


In a Flowery Meadow

by Innin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Back to Middle-Earth Month, F/F, Femslash, Fingerfucking, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3503906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innin/pseuds/Innin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting while en route to visit the Sons of Fëanor delays Aredhel for a night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Flowery Meadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Broadbeam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broadbeam/gifts).



> Written for the 2015 B2MeM Marketplace, inspired by the picture prompt of a flowery meadow. Also for Broadbeam, who requested this pairing.

“But the Lady Aredhel seeks only to --” 

While Ecthelion was determinedly arguing for passage through Doriath, Egalmoth was scowling, and Glorfindel stood with folded arms, staring down an arrow trained at his sternum, one among the marchwardens caught Aredhel’s eye - a hooded woman clad in blue. She mouthed something that seemed to say _I shall come to you again_ , and there was a glint of bright grey in the shadows of her summer-blue hood when she winked. 

Then the woman lifted a finger to her lips. 

Aredhel found herself intrigued by what the woman might be suggesting - passage south through Doriath, perhaps, on some secret way? She smiled, nodding, with a queer, warm feeling pooling in her stomach - gratitude, surely - and curiosity about the woman’s motives. 

Aredhel said nothing when the chief of the band cut short yet another attempt of Ecthelion to bravely - but futilely - work his charms on her - and dispensed advice of the best way to take to Himlad, east through Dimbar and along the southern reaches of Dorthonion - and kept her silence even when they parted. The woman in the blue hood stood while her companions turned to go, and it was only then that Aredhel noted the curious absence of gear on her: she was carrying neither bow nor arrow, nor wore armour, unless it were concealed. Some noble lady, then, perhaps being escorted by the armed guards, who might exert her influence where that of Gondolin held no sway.

When she looked up, they had all vanished. With a sigh Aredhel sat in the grass, announcing to her own escort that they would be taking the suggestion - but not until the next morning, and they would make camp right where they were. 

After all, the woman might still make good on her promise, but Aredhel did not say so aloud.

She returned toward the end of Aredhel’s watch. It was nearing the middle of the night, and the moon hung bright above the treetops at the edge of the woods. The woman was heralded first by her shadow slipping over the grass before her; her steps were soundless. She had cast back the hood of her cloak, revealing a face that stopped Aredhel’s breath in her throat. In the darkness the woman’s eyes were even brighter, now cat-like and catching the moonlight, than by day. 

She knelt between Aredhel’s outstretched legs in one fluid motion, close enough for the warmth that radiated from her to caress Aredhel’s skin like an invisible hand. Their knees were nearly touching, and at the intimacy of that gesture, her earlier behaviour suddenly became clear. She had not been offering a way through Doriath at all; she had been proclaiming interest. Aredhel felt a fool for not recognizing it sooner, having been so bent on finding a way to visit her cousins, after a day spent in hefty contention with Glorfindel, Egalmoth and Ecthelion to visit them at all. 

She supposed she could forgive herself that lapse. Especially as it seemed to come with an opportunity to end the night on a highly pleasant, if surprising, note, and the prospect to relinquish some of her frustrations in the best possible way was more than a little appealing.

The stranger’s bright eyes were rapt upon her face. She decided not, for the moment at least, to question the rationale for her interest. Instead, Aredhel glanced at her companions. Glorfindel turned over in his sleep. She sighed - he was a famously light sleeper, and any sort of noise would wake him. 

The stranger followed her gaze and laughed softly, a sound like bells under starlight. “Come, we will go a little distance, and they shall trouble us no more than my guardians will - the hours until sunrise shall be ours alone, if you would have that.”

“I would,” Aredhel heard herself say. Her mouth was very dry and her heart pounded high in her throat, though from expectation, she thought, rather than fear. A beautiful stranger was not a particularly fearsome threat, and Aredhel was not unfamiliar with the things that might come to pass, if she let them happen. 

Glorfindel muttered something in his sleep that sounded suspiciously like an exasperated ‘ _lady, no_ ’ and Aredhel clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a bout of laughter. She’d heard that phrase many times over the past day, and now especially it seemed apt. If her brother heard of this encounter and the supposed soiling of Aredhel’s supposed virtue, all three of her companions would bear the brunt of her brother’s wrath. 

She did not intend to let any of them be witness to the way she was hoping to spend her night.

She climbed to her feet when the woman tugged on her hand. “Come away,” she whispered, insistent, and Aredhel was happier to follow than what was perhaps wise, flitting through the trees behind her new companion’s dancing steps. “Do not let go of my hand!” the woman called once, when Aredhel’s fingers were slipping.

By the time they stopped, in a meadow of purple campions and buttercups between young birches that let the moonlight through, Aredhel found herself out of breath - the stranger, with her head tipped back toward the sky, was perfectly composed. 

“I think this will do nicely,” the stranger said, laughing softly. Aredhel drank in the sight of moonlight gleaming along the curve of her throat, the shadows of her hair, and found herself fully enraptured again, and although she was reluctant to shatter the moment, said,

“I have to ask one thing - your name.”

“Hmm?” The stranger turned her head, a strand of dark hair slipped half over her face. “Could you not tell? I am Lúthien, the daughter of Melian and Thingol,” she said, and smiled, her full lips curving at the astonishment Aredhel was convinced showed clearly on her face, the moment before it turned into a sinking feeling in her stomach, tinted with disappointed expectations at the edges.

“And if someone finds us I shall be convicted of high treason and spend my life in the dungeons of Menegroth, causing an unprecedented diplomatic incident for a breach of our laws and customs.” That, she was quite certain, would be rather worse than a chiding from Turgon.

Lúthien laughed again, as carefree as Aredhel felt dour. “If so - your cousin Galadriel resides in Menegroth, and we shall both be certain to make it a pleasant captivity for you. She told me much about you, and if I have learned anything in my life, then that chance meetings are opportunities to sate curiosities… and other impulses. I do not think you shall be found. I put a sleep upon my guards, and yours will not be able to track us here. We are inside the Girdle now, and if they wake, they cannot pass without guidance.” 

The night certainly seemed to have its share of unexpected surprises. Finally Aredhel felt an answering smile. “Then from one King’s daughter to another, let us make the best of this little freedom.”

“Kiss me,” Lúthien said in answer. Aredhel did, pulling Lúthien down to sit in the flowers with her, and Lúthien fluttered laughter against her lips. “My, you are eager.”

They did not speak again for a while, except for whispers at each other, murmurs against each other’s lips. Lúthien proved adept and mischievous at kissing, and not shy at all. When she drew back at last, her large, bright eyes never strayed from Aredhel’s face, lingering with a kind of wonder that made Aredhel’s knees go weak. Had she not been seated already, her legs might have refused their support.

Lúthien moved in for another kiss, growing more fervent, fingers straying. Heat was beginning to pool through Aredhel, enough to feel herself melting under the ministrations, the warmth of Lúthien’s skin through their garments. She tangled her fingers in the laces of Lúthien’s dress, tugging impatiently until all opposing pieces of clothing lay in a heap on the forest floor, and followed suit with her own riding gear and undergarments. Although it was early summer, her skin stood in goosebumps - for the cool night air, for the touch and tickle of Lúthien’s hands - she seemed prone to that, delighting in evoking laughter from Aredhel’s lips playing fingers over her ribcage and making her twitch, running the palm of her hand over Aredhel’s breast and making her moan and seek more of the touch, bend forward to bring their bodies into contact, wrap her arms around Lúthien’s willowy frame and tangle them in the cascade of Lúthien’s hair, lower her head to kiss along her skin. 

Soon Lúthien had moved to sit astride Aredhel’s lap, her long legs slung around Aredhel’s hips. Lúthien tangled their fingers together, pulled them to her mouth, brushed her lips over Aredhel’s bowstring callouses with delight, then slid their intertwined hands down between their bodies, her thumb teasing in a way that made - for the umpteenth time that night - Aredhel’s breath catch. 

Lúthien laughed softly, shuddering and grinding down against the heel of Aredhel’s hand. By now a flush had risen high into her cheeks, and a first gleam of sweat showed on her immaculate skin. Behind her the sky was already lightening with the quick approach of morning, but Aredhel tried not to think of going back to the campsite; she could happily have stayed locked body-to-body with Lúthien forever, but her companion seemed to have notice the same, redoubling her efforts, attentive now even more than before to Aredhel’s every tension of muscles, with the clear purpose to bring her to her release.

It was Lúthien’s down-tilted head that did it, the intent concentration she devoted to watching their fingers move, the half-lidded eyes, the pearls of sweat on her upper lip, the strand of hair clinging to the sweat-damp side of her neck, equally as much as her ministrations. 

For a moment the world went blissfully blank.

Aredhel still sought to breathe again when Lúthien followed suit only a moment after, her white teeth pressing down hard into her lower lip, a quiet, melodious _ah!_ that struck Aredhel to the core, and then her body relaxing, Lúthien pulling their heads together, forehead to forehead, and sliding down into the cool grass, wonderful against Aredhel’s heated skin and heavy with the scent of crushed flowers. Lúthien brought her fingers, still slick, to her lips and pressed a kiss to them, smiling. 

“It is a while yet to sunrise,” she murmured. “Stay a little longer.”

Aredhel was only too glad to oblige.


End file.
